


Serious As A Heart Attack

by EllanaSan



Series: Have a Drink Sweetheart (Hayffie Prompts/one shots collection) [35]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Takes place during Mockingjay, movie!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22360180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: “I’m fine.” Haymitch promised for the hundredth time.It didn’t stop Effie Trinket from pacing the length of the room back and forth like a very furious tiger trapped in a very tiny cage.“You arenot.” she snapped without even looking at him.  “You had a heart attack and xi>no one here is taking itseriously.”
Relationships: Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket
Series: Have a Drink Sweetheart (Hayffie Prompts/one shots collection) [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/71774
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	Serious As A Heart Attack

**Author's Note:**

> Promtp: Can I prompt a fic where Haymitch has a heart attack during sex and Effie is very upset and distraught because she thinks it’s her fault despite the fact the doctor told her it would have happened anyway. And later when he is discharged Haymitch is going absolutely crazy because Effie won’t have sex with him out of fear she will accidentally fuck him to death. And he goes on a mission to find his way back in her arms by doing everything he know she likes.

“I’m fine.” Haymitch promised for the hundredth time.

It didn’t stop Effie Trinket from pacing the length of the room back and forth like a very furious tiger trapped in a very tiny cage.

“You are _not_.” she snapped without even looking at him. She _did_ glare at the hospital room door though. “You had a heart attack and _no one_ here is taking it _seriously_.”

Her voice hit a particularly shrill note that he had yet to ever hear before despite how high-pitched it had always been. Haymitch winced, doing his best to remain calm because that was what the doctor had told him to do. Stay calm, relax, try not to stress too much until the results were up…

Easier said than done with his escort digging herself a hole in the floor.

Effie was freaked out and reasonably so. So freaked out that she hadn’t even put her scarf back on and her reddish blond hair was curling proudly around her head the way he liked it best – the way she would have died before letting anyone else see… She had dressed in a hurry. The makeshift dress she had sewed out of her uniform kept slipping down the shoulder and she kept tugging it up instead or artfully arranging it like it was supposed to fall. She hadn’t put on tights and she must have been freezing. Her boots were still unlaced. In short, she looked a frightened mess.

But, he figured, he would have looked a frightened mess too if she had suddenly frozen in the middle of sex, grabbed her arm, gulped air like a fish out of water and then collapsed on him. He had been aware at the time of being a dead weight but he had been more worried about trying to get air into his lungs despite the sharp pain in his chest every time he had tried to breathe. Like the tip of a knife piercing his heart.

It had lasted thirty seconds at worst.

She had still been screaming like a banshee when the pain had receded and he had managed to drag himself off her. He had been able to breathe easily again. The pain had been gone. All that had been left were some tingles in his left arm and a soreness around his jaw.

Not that he would have had any chance of brushing the episode off like he would have done if he had been alone…

Effie had bolted out of bed, slipped on her makeshift dress and ran out the door screaming for help. He had tried to hold her back but lifting his head had made him dizzy so he had focused on putting some pants on before she brought back the whole District.

Thirteen was a little more put together than the Capitol though and, in the end, it had only been a medical team with a _damn_ stretcher who didn’t care that he didn’t want to get on said stretcher.

“You heard the guy…” He sighed. “Chances are it _wasn’t_ a heart attack.”

“I heard him, yes. He said _tiny coronary_ , which means it _was_ a heart attack.” she retorted.

“A _tiny_ one.” he tempered, pinching his nose.

“The size is not exactly relevant here, Haymitch.” she hissed.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore. He understood worry made her particularly bitchy but he couldn’t take it. “Can you _fuck_ the sit down? You’re making me dizzy.”

She immediately dropped on the visitor chair next to the bed, grabbing his hand and searching his face. “Do you feel ill? Do you want me to fetch one of those _incompetent_ doctors?”

“They’re not that incompetent.” he grumbled. “It’s not because they didn’t go to your fancy Capitol schools…”

“This is all _their fault_ and we _both_ know it.” she cut him off, her eyes filling with tears that she hastily blinked away. Without her fake eyelashes to mask them though, they were harder to hide. “If they had handled your withdrawals better…”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugged and tugged on her hand. “I promise I’m good now.”

She pursed her lips, absolutely unconvinced, but he was saved from having to hear all about how he _didn’t_ look good by the knocks on the door. He had hoped for the doctor coming back to release him but it was only Plutarch who looked concerned.

“I got Effie’s message.” the former Head Gamemaker said. “You had a heart attack?”

He groaned and dropped his head back on the pillow.

“What is it?” Effie immediately gasped, bolting to her feet. The chair clattered to the floor behind her. “Haymitch?”

“You’re killing me.” he growled.

She flinched. A whole body-flinch.

He regretted his choice of words because he just _knew_ she had been reliving that moment when he had collapsed on her, unable to breathe – and yet, there was something to be said for that performance, he had still been thrusting into her at the time, his dick apparently unconcerned that his brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

“You told everyone?” he accused, making an effort to curb his tone into something less harsh.

“Not the children, obviously.” she huffed.

Plutarch cautiously rounded the bed, watching Effie in the corner of his eye like she was a wild animal. Haymitch decided he was right to be wary. A furious bitchy Effie was a dangerous Effie. The Gamemaker picked up the chair from the floor and righted it for her.

“I do not want you to worry, Haymitch.” Plutarch said. “We have things in hand in Command. Just focus on…”

“I’m _fine_.” he spat. “The doctor’s gonna come back and he’s gonna say I’m fine. They wouldn’t have done half the tests they did if Effie hadn’t been her usual bossy bitch self.”

“Oh, no, you _don’t_!” she huffed, tearing her hand from his and picking up her pacing again. Plutarch hastily got out of the way, shooting Haymitch a confused glance but Haymitch just discreetly shook his head. “They are an _incompetent_ bunch, _that_ is what they are. Not doing any tests… _A tiny coronary_ … _Your heart has been through too much stress lately_ … Whose fault is _that_? They practically let you _die_ in that _bloody_ cell! _I_ had to watch you…”

She cut herself off abruptly but kept walking, her jaw clenched and her eyes far too bright.

He sighed. “Look…”

“Your heart _stopped_.” she sneered. “When you were in that cell and I kept telling them _every day_ you were not doing well and they kept dismissing me… _You_ …” She pointed a shaking but accusatory finger straight at Plutarch who took a single step back and bumped into the drip pole. “ _…_ kept dismissing me… _This is not a cell, Miss Trinket… The lock is on your side of the door, Miss Trinket… Haymitch is in good hands, Miss Trinket_ … _Thirteen have some of the best medics, Miss Trinket…_ ”

Her imitation of Plutarch was passable at best but it was also entertaining enough that Haymitch rubbed his mouth to hide a smile. _Fuck_ , but he liked her when she was all fired up like this.

“And they do…” Plutarch stammered. “I…”

“Then _why_ didn’t they see he was going to have a heart attack before _I_ did?” she hissed. “It was _obvious_ his body would give after so many years of addiction. _Obvious_! And do _I_ have a medical degree, Plutarch? _Do_ I? If _I_ could see it and _they_ couldn’t, what does that make of their skills?”

As entertaining as it was, Haymitch sighed again. “Sweetheart, I’m fine.”

“ _Fine_?” she repeated, her voice shrill enough to break glass. “You heart _stopped_ while you were _trapped_ naked in a _filthy_ cell and I had to _watch_ them _resuscitate_ you and I thought it was the _worst day of my life_. And now _today?_ And they are just happy to let you go with a warning to come back if you feel faint? _What kind of doctors does this bloody District have?_ ”

Plutarch cleared his throat. “It might not seem that way to you, right now… It is clear you are _deeply_ upset…”

Haymitch winced in sympathy. Not the best play when she was in that sort of mood.

“Are you calling me _hysterical_ , Plutarch?” she snapped. “Do you think I am a hysterical woman who cannot control herself during stressful times? Because I _know_ that it was what that doctor thought – a doctor who, by the way, is young enough to be _my son_ and that does _not_ inspire confidence, let me tell you – and he _also_ thought me insisting on them doing more tests on Haymitch is my _over the top_ Capitol tendencies… Well, _fuck them_ , because I am _right_ and they are _wrong_ and I am of half a mind to drag Haymitch back to the Capitol _right now_.”

“You know all the swearing gets me hot, sweetheart…” Haymitch mocked. “But you’re not thinking straight. You know if you drag me to the Capitol they’d just torture us both for information, right?”

“Naturally.” she huffed, a little too seriously for his taste. It couldn’t have pleased Plutarch either because he suddenly went to close the door so nobody would overhear and accuse them of plotting treason. “And it would _not_ be pleasant. But _they_ have the best medicine available on the market and they would _certainly_ patch us up after I made my pitch. What is a little discomfort compared to your health?”

“Your pitch?” Plutarch repeated, sounding almost afraid to ask.

“I would sell my information, of course.” she declared flippantly. “Exchange them for a pardon and immunity for Haymitch, the children and I. They would _have_ to fix Haymitch’s heart then.” She looked at the Gamemaker with a loathing dismissing glance. “My apologies. I cannot make you part of that deal, you are too big a fish for them to fry and I would not jeopardize my team for you. Besides, _you_ are the one who kidnapped me in the first place. I would, naturally, have to put the blame on you.” She hummed thoughtfully and stopped pacing to study Plutarch, her head tilted to the side. “Actually, that is a _much_ better plan. We will pin _everything_ on you. You kidnapped both Haymitch and I, stole Katniss from the arena, your rebels then took Peeta… With the right spin, I _can_ sell that… Perhaps a few bruises on us would do us good… Add a little credibility… Yes… Yes, it would…”

“Effie, you’re spiraling.” Haymitch snapped, pushing himself in a sitting position. Plutarch was staring at her like he had never seen her before and Haymitch was a little scared that she was already thinking of ways to get them all back to the Capitol. She was a hurricane, he knew better than underestimating her. When she wanted something done… “Don’t listen to her.” he told Plutarch. “She’s joking.”

“I…” she argued.

“You are _joking_.” he growled.

They glared at each other for a moment and then she averted her eyes. “I am not joking but I _am_ venting. Of course, I would not bring the children back to the Capitol. Look at what they did to Peeta…”

Plutarch seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Haymitch, however, noted that she didn’t say she wouldn’t bring _him_ back to the Capitol.

“Effie, you cannot say things like that and certainly not where President Coin might hear you.” Plutarch admonished. “You are on _thin_ ice as it is.”

“Yeah, and _that’s_ not helping my heart.” Haymitch deadpanned.

Chastised, she sat back down on the chair. She still looked troubled and he reached for her hand again, running his thumb over her knuckles in a soothing caress.

Plutarch cleared his throat. “I will let President Coin know you are indisposed. Take some time off… If we need you…”

“You will _not_ be calling him to Command even if Panem is on fire until I am _satisfied_ his heart won’t give.” Effie interrupted. “You can tell _that_ to your president.”

“I… will definitely _not_ say that to _our_ president.” Plutarch answered with some amusement. “But I will think of a sensible alternative. Get better, Haymitch.”

Haymitch nodded at the man in farewell and, once they were alone again in the room, he shook his head at her. “You can’t speak treason in front of people, sweetheart.”

“Is it treason when I never wanted to come here in the first place?” she muttered. “I swore loyalty to no one but my team and it seems to me my team would be safer _anywhere_ else than here.”

She had a point. But for now…

“Hey. Come here.” He tugged on her hand until she got the drift and climbed on the hospital bed, neatly tucking herself into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder and pressed her forehead against his neck, her legs propped against his thigh. “I’m fine, alright? I promise. I feel okay. No pain. Nothing.”

“Your heart _stopped_.” she argued, her voice breaking.

_Shit_ but he hadn’t realized how much what had happened to him during withdrawals had affected her. He barely remembered anything aside from the nightmares and the terror. He knew, because she had told him, that the only reason she had left her compartment at first was to visit him and eat a meal at the dining hall but they hadn’t really discussed that time in depth. They _never_ discussed anything in depth. 

They had certainly not discussed that one time his body had finally given in to the abrupt lack of alcohol.

“That was months ago and there were circumstances, sweetheart.” he whispered. “Earlier was not _that_.”

She didn’t answer but he felt her mouth against his neck. He felt it move. He had a good idea of the three words she pressed into his skin.

He sighed, dropped a kiss on her head and stared at the ceiling until the young doctor from earlier walked in with his test results.

Effie listened raptly as the man explained that it _hadn’t_ been a heart attack, not in the strictest meaning of the term anyway, but that Haymitch _should_ rest for a few days and avoid stress – which was a joke.

“He didn’t even give you any medication!” Effie huffed as soon as they were back in her compartment. She immediately started making the bed, fluffed the pillows…

Haymitch shed his clothes, intending to follow the doctor’s orders for now and get some sleep. “There are gonna be check-ups. You heard him.”

He had an appointment for the following week to do some cardiac stress tests, which the doctor had explained, were basically endurance tests. But even that hadn’t satisfied Effie.

“Get into bed.” she ordered.

“Are we playing naughty nurse?” he teased. “Are you tucking me in?”

A shadow fell on her face and she didn’t play along with the banter. The silence became uncomfortable and Haymitch got into bed and she did tuck him in but there was nothing naughty about it.

The rumors of his “heart attack” were rampant by that evening. Effie didn’t report any of that, of course, but Katniss barged in, disheveled and a little frightened, asking him if he was alright. If the girl found it odd that he recovered in Effie’s compartment – in Effie’s bed, she didn’t mention but, then again, he had maybe spent one night in his and Plutarch’s room so people knew to find him there by then. It should probably worry that people weren’t more fazed to find him in his escort’s bed but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Ironically, in Thirteen, she was safer if people thought they were involved.

After two days of bed rest, Haymitch was going crazy and sneaked out as soon as Effie left to follow the schedule on her wrist. She tracked him down in Command three hours later, she was clearly _pissed_ and it was only her upbringing and a sense of decorum that stopped her from making a scene in the middle of a briefing.

She kept it together until they were back in her compartment later that night. The fight was _explosive_. She shouted so loud he was certain she could be heard three rooms away, accusing him of not taking his health seriously, of making her worry – of giving her _wrinkles_ and _white hair_ …

He kissed her mid-sentence at some point because he was tired of the fight. She answered to the kiss immediately and he pinned her to the wall. It was all teeth and tongue but when he tried to lift her up with his hands under her ass, she brutally shoved him away.

He frowned. “What now?”

He didn’t think she was angry anymore but her features were schooled in one of those expressions that were always hard to read. Her escort’s mask. “You are supposed to rest.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll lie down and you can do all the work.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “Won’t mind the view…”

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. “I promised Cressida I would help with the propos. I need to go.”

“You’re kidding?” he scoffed. “It’s almost curfew.”

“The propos need to be ready tomorrow.” she argued.

She was gone before he could call her out on her _bullshit_.

He waited for her but she still wasn’t back by the time he fell asleep. He woke up slightly when she finally slipped into bed and rolled over to wrap his arm around her but she was already gone when he opened his eyes the next morning.

He didn’t push it, figuring she was still freaked out by the health scare.

He did the endurance tests – and, of course, she came with him just to be sure the doctors did their job – and they didn’t find anything bad, nothing that his sudden severance from a two decade addiction to alcohol couldn’t explain anyway. They recommended he came to the hospital wing at the smallest alarming sign – mostly to appease Effie’s nerves, he thought – but otherwise, he was as fit as he was going to be.

Effie did _not_ relax.

She kept watching him like a hawk, asked him if he was alright every time he winced, reached for him every time he made a noise… It became so unbearable that he lingered in Command long after his presence was necessary.

“You work too much.” she grumbled one night. He hadn’t meant to wake her up, he hadn’t even switched the light on in the living area, but since she _was_ awake… He quickly got rid of his clothes and slipped into bed behind her. She hummed in contentment at how warm he was and burrowed into him. He brushed her hair off her shoulder, dropped a couple of kisses on her neck, pushed his legs between hers… She moved away, a little too quickly. “I can’t. It’s not a good time.”

“Oh.” He made a face, counting the weeks in his head and coming to a blank because he hadn’t been paying that much attention. He wasn’t used to _that_. The Games usually lasted a little over a month and it wasn’t like they lived in each other’s pocket. In Thirteen though… Sharing a compartment had made it impossible to ignore some parts of her womanhood. He slowly spooned her again, tentatively sliding his hand to her lower stomach. “You’re doing okay?”

The reason it had been so hard to ignore her periods was because they were clearly _painful_. And Thirteen didn’t consider it necessary to hand out painkillers so… He had watched her curl up over herself, in pain, for a whole night a little after Katniss accepted to become the Mockingjay.

“Yes, thank you.” she answered awkwardly.

He put it on the fact that she wasn’t any more at ease than he was with him knowing what was going on with her body and he spread his hand on her lower belly, aware the warmth helped and she would have loved having a hot bottle during those times – or in general for that matter. He kissed the back of her shoulder over the fabric of her shirt and made an effort to drift off to sleep.

She was distant though.

He saw it.

She would smile and chat and flirt like nothing was the matter but the moment they were alone in their compartment she found excuses to avoid his hands, suddenly remembered chores that couldn’t wait…

She had never been like that before and he was starting to feel the sting of rejection. 

Kissing seemed to be fine but every time he tried to deepen one or to make out with her, she would flee his arms with a half-assed excuse. He felt like a teenager trying to get to first base with a girl again.

Was it any wonder that he had very wet dreams about her?

One night he wake up from one of those dreams and it seemed his body had taken over what his mind so desperately wanted to do. He was hard and rubbing himself against her ass but her body couldn’t have objected to that because she was pushing back… His hand was under her shirt, kneading her breast… Her lips were parted and she was letting out those soft whines that made him crazy…

He was still half asleep when he started kissing her neck and her eyelids were barely fluttering open when she reached behind her for his neck… He wanted to kiss her and so he pulled her on her back so he could access her mouth, her throat… It had been so long since he had been allowed that much…

He slipped her shirt off and she smiled at him, a dazed sleepy look on her face, her blue eyes clouded with desire… He kissed her again… She wriggled until she had gotten rid of her panties… It was natural to slid between her legs and she spread them for him… His mouth was on her breast, one of his hands playing with her other nipple… He pumped himself quickly with his free hand… She arched her back with a moan and he couldn’t wait any longer… He lined himself up with her center, slowly sinking his head into her… He rubbed her clit a few times because she wasn’t that wet yet…

“Oh, _fuck_ , I’ve missed you…” he muttered.

Her eyes snapped open and she didn’t look dazed or asleep or languid anymore.

It actually startled him how alarmed she looked.

She _had_ been awake minutes earlier. He knew she _had_ _been_. She had looked at him, she had touched him, she had…

He didn’t understand how she did it but, in a flash, she had flipped them over so she was straddling him. He wasn’t sure it was what she had intended but, in the move, she slid all the way on him and he couldn’t help but strain his neck in bliss, grunting his pleasure…

She froze.

She completely froze.

He grabbed her waist, the working half of his brain a little concerned, the other half desperate for her to move…

“Effie…” he begged. He didn’t often use that tone and she usually had to work on him a lot more before he caved and pleaded but _right then_ … It had been too long… He _needed_ her.

“ _No_.” she snapped and before he could grasp what was happening she had torn herself off him and had climbed off the bed.

He blinked, his brain not quite able to work out what had just happened. He was extremely hard, he was throbbing and he wanted to bury back into her warmth.

“Effie…” he groaned. “Don’t wanna play games… Come back…”

“No.” she repeated.

She wasn’t playing coy, he realized slowly, she was just… She hadn’t let him touch her in weeks. There had always been excuses. Her periods, headaches, laundry to fold, work with Cressida or Plutarch or even checking on Katniss or Peeta… 

It occurred to him suddenly that there was a problem. A problem more serious than her being momentarily pissed about something. It wasn’t a sex strike. She had gone on sex strikes before. She _always_ let him know what he was being punished for.

He rolled to his side and watched her in the semi-darkness. The only light came from the huge red numbers of the clock on the wall and it tossed strange shadows on her naked body. She was standing with her back against the other bunk bed, hugging herself…

She looked so lost, so _hurt_ …

“There’s something I should know, princess?” he asked slowly, cautiously.

She shook her head. “I do not want to have sex with you.”

“Yeah…” he deadpanned. “I’m getting that drift.” He swallowed hard. Before the rebellion, before all this… He would have taken the piss and stormed out. But he was tired of pretending he didn’t want to keep _this_. He wasn’t sure how he would have survived those months down there without her. She was… She was more essential to him than liquor nowadays. She was his best friend. She was… She was _everything_ and he didn’t want to imagine his life without her. It would be sad and grey and worse than it already was. “I did something to piss you off?”

“No…” She softened and rubbed her arms.

“Come back to bed.” he demanded. “You’re shivering.”

“Will you keep your hands to yourself?” she challenged.

That was the first time she had ever requested that of him and it made him frown even as he sat down.

He didn’t like the way she looked. Too vulnerable. Too… She looked _hurt_. He didn’t like that look on her. It made him _mad,_ desperate to fix whatever was wrong with her. And he didn’t like where his brain was going with her sudden request to not be touched either… 

“Did someone do something to you?” he growled. Because he would find them and skin them alive and then he would make them eat their junks and, _then_ , if they were lucky, he would kill them.

“Of course not.” she scoffed. “Calm down. Think about your blood pressure.”

“ _You_ ’re making my blood pressure go up.” he grumbled. “Come back to bed.” She hesitated and he rolled his eyes. “Won’t touch you.”

It was bad if she didn’t trust him to respect her wishes, he mused.

He held out the blankets until she relented with a sigh and climbed back into their bed. He wrapped them around her, careful to keep his hips angled away from her since his attention was so offensive.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to.” she said before he could ask if she wanted them to stop whatever it was they were doing. “I just… I do not want to be responsible for your death.”

“Didn’t bother you during the Quell when you reaped me.” he snorted before he could think it through.

She flinched as if he had hit her and she tossed the blankets away again. He tried to grab her when she slid her legs out of the bed but he was too slow.

“Is _that_ what you still think?” she hissed. “That I am just an egoistical escort who does not care about the lives she wrecks?”

She started getting dressed in the dark and he groaned. _That_ was bad. If she hadn’t been on a sex strike before, she _certainly_ was going to be now.

“You know I don’t.” he retorted. “Come on, I didn’t mean…”

“You never do, do you?” she snapped. “How curious that you always regret it when I refuse to spread my legs for you. You have _no_ problems imparting your opinions of me otherwise.”

“Unfair.” he countered, sitting up. “I’m always game to tell you how horrible you are.”

He had meant it as a joke, his tone was teasing, but she was furious and she didn’t find it funny in the very least.

If glares could kill, he would have dropped dead.

“Effie, sweetheart…” He lifted his hands in a peace gesture, wincing at how placating he sounded. “Please, come back here… What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night…”

She paused, her boot half on. “Very true. _Very_ true. And this is _my_ room.” She tossed the boot off and started picking up the clothes he had left on the floor the previous night. He only managed to duck the shirt. The pants and the socks hit him straight in the face. “And since _you_ are the one who cannot keep it in his pants, _you_ are the one who has to remove yourself from the premise. After all, you _do_ have a compartment of your own.”

“This _is_ my compartment.” he growled. “I’m living here too.”

All his stuff was there. His clothes, his toothbrush, the razor he hadn’t used in weeks but she secretly stole to shave her legs…

“No, you do _not_.” she retorted, grabbing his boot and tossing it on the bed – _not_ at his head, thankfully. “Not anymore.”

He rolled his eyes and jumped off the bed, grabbing her arm. He wasn’t ready for her to stomp on his foot and he let go, hopping back, holding his hurt foot in his hands. “What the _fuck_?”

There were tears in her eyes but her voice was firm. “Please, leave.”

He wanted to argue, properly fight this through, but she looked so upset and miserable that the fight left him. “Effie…”

“Please.” she whispered.

Defeated, his shoulders slouched, he nodded. He got dressed quickly. The silence was unbearable and when he walked past her he tentatively leaned in for a kiss. She pecked his lips back but it didn’t bring him the comfort he had hoped for.

And he didn’t enjoy creeping down lonely corridors, doing his best to avoid the patrols in the hallways because breaking curfew was a serious no-no unless you had a clearance pass Haymitch didn’t have with him. He slipped back into the compartment he hadn’t used in months, waking Plutarch up mid-snore.

“Not a word.” he warned the confused Head Gamemaker, tossing himself on the free bed.

Plutarch didn’t say one.

He was up early the next morning and strode to Effie’s table in the dining hall, dropping on the chair opposite her.

She looked up from the tray she had yet to touch, dark bags under her reddish slightly puffy eyes. Any anger or resentment he had been carrying melted. Had she spent the whole night crying?

“You want to break up with me.” he said flatly.

He had thought it over. He had spent the whole night thinking it over. Her reluctance to have sex, the distance she had been putting between them, her behavior the previous night…

“Do not be stupid. It does not become you.” she murmured just as flatly.

Relief was immediate and sweet. “Then what is it? Cause you’re being _fucking_ …”

“I do _not_ trust these doctors, Haymitch.” she cut him off. “I think you should be resting until we can find a proper one, one who will take your condition _seriously_ and do more extensive exams. And instead of taking it easy you are putting yourself in stressful situation every day and…”

Her voice broke and her lips wobbled and Haymitch reached over the table to cover her hand, not even caring that someone might see. She slowly entwined their fingers.

“Effie, I’m _fine_. I _feel_ fine.” he promised. “You’re gonna give _yourself_ a heart condition if you keep worrying about that. They’re monitoring me. It’s _okay_.”

She shook her head. “No, it is _not_. As long as I am at risk of losing you…”

“We’re in the middle of a war.” he reminded her. “We’re all at risk of losing each other.”

“But _I_ cannot lose _you_.” she snapped. She looked away, clearly embarrassed. “I apologize, I know you do not like hearing it but I need you to understand… I _cannot_ live without you. The mere thought of losing you…”

“You’re not gonna lose me.” he murmured, leaning over the table to cup her cheek. He let go quickly because he wasn’t really at ease with public demonstrations of affection but she seemed to relax all the same. “Thought _I_ was losing you. Thought you didn’t want me anymore…”

“ _Of course_ , I want you.” she scoffed. “But I won’t have you collapsing on top of me.” Her face scrunched with pain and she made a visible effort to collect herself. “You were on top of me. You were _inside_ me. And you just… I thought you were _dead_.” Her voice drifted off a little. “I just… My mind flashed right back to when you were in that withdrawal cell and… You heart stopped. Your heart _stopped_ and they had to use a defibrillator and…”

“And I came back.” he reminded her, coaxing her out of whatever terrible looping memory she was locked in. It all made better sense. He wasn’t a stranger to intrusive memories. “Sweetheart, I’m fine right now. Might have a serious case of blue balls but I can survive _that_ …”

The joke fell on deaf ears.

“You should not be doing anything strenuous.” she argued. “Having sex with me is strenuous.”

“Having sex with you makes me feel alive.” he countered casually, as if it wasn’t equivalent to a declaration in his books. Her head snapped up and she searched his eyes. He shrugged. “I miss you. I _need_ you.”

“What if you have another heart attack?” she asked.

“Wasn’t a heart attack.” He sighed and then shrugged again. “Worse ways to die.”

“ _Haymitch_.” she hissed, tugging her hand away.

He didn’t let go of it. “Sweetheart, I’ve been a drunk for close to twenty years. My liver got dibs on killing me. I’ve _fucked_ you a thousand times and we’ve done _way_ worse than missionary on a bed, if I didn’t die then, I’m not gonna keel over now.”

She pouted. “I do not know.”

“Gonna make me beg, ain’t you?” he teased.

A flash of amusement danced in her eyes but it was short-lived. “It is not about that. I am not playing games. I…”

“I know.” he admitted. “You’re scared.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “And…”

“Morning.” Katniss mumbled, placing her tray next to Effie’s, without a thought about the fact she might be interrupting something. She immediately started scowling at her plate, apparently not noticing their linked hands or the fact they had been having an important conversation.

Effie immediately let go of his fingers to fuss over the girl who looked at him like she was being unbearable but also clearly enjoyed every second of Effie mothering her. Funny, given how she had reacted when Aster Everdeen had tried to step back into her role as a mother a few weeks earlier.

They had to wait two days to finish that conversation. He was needed in Command, Plutarch wanted Effie to type reports for him…

It was almost comical how they dropped into bed without any thought about sex or anything that wasn’t related to sleep – or maybe it was _pathetic_ because it meant they had become one of those couples…

Haymitch felt much better in the morning though: rested and clear-headed.

He watched Effie sleep – something he would have denied if pressed – smiling at the small puddle of drool next to her mouth on her pillow – something _she_ would have denied under torture. When he felt her stir, he brushed her hair away from her face, smiling when she predictably stretched like a cat. She smiled back when she opened her eyes and spotted him with his head propped on his hand.

“Good morning.” she hummed.

“Morning, beautiful.” he replied.

“Oh… Flattery first thing in the morning…” she laughed. “Someone wants something…”

“I can’t live without you either.” he offered. He had been fighting with himself for _days_ about admitting that much or not. “Can _survive_ , I guess, but not _live_. I _can_ live without sex, though. Even if it’s gonna be hard. Pun intended.”

Her eyes had filled with tears that disappeared abruptly when she chuckled at his bad joke. She cupped his cheek and he leaned into her palm, moving down so he could kiss her. He kept it sweet and chaste enough.

“I _do_ want to have sex.” she whispered against his lips. “ _Hell_ , I am desperate to have sex… I have missed you _so much_ …” She brushed her lips against his but retreated before she could make it a proper kiss. “I am just scared you will die on me.”

He would die on her one day. He wasn’t an optimist and his chances at a long life weren’t good. He would die first, he knew, but he hoped they would have a few good years before that.

“Maybe we should start small…” he suggested, nipping at the soft skin under her jaw. “Baby steps. I do you… Then you do me… If I survive that, we try a real _fuck_.”

“Two rounds in one morning?” she asked. “Now we _are_ trying to kill you…”

“Fine.” he compromised. “Second round tonight. Gonna think about it all day but I can live with that.” He kissed his way down her throat, to her breasts… He sucked her nipple over the fabric of her shirt. “Deal?”

“I think only fingers this morning…” she hummed. “Mouths tonight. And if I am satisfied you are doing alright, tomorrow you might get the whole thing.”

He was already sliding his hand in her panties. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I am thinking about your well-being.” she argued.

He slipped a finger inside her, pushing her shirt up with his free hand so he could nuzzle at her bare breasts. “Yeah, well… Let me worry about yours…”

Making her feel good was, after all, one of his many talents…

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Let me know your thoughts please!


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